An Act of Persuasion - By Stephanie Doyle Page 0,76
come paint a scene. All the catalogs I’ve looked at show the nursery with fluffy clouds on the ceiling. I’m not sure why the kid wants to think its outside, but whatever. Since I can’t draw a stick figure, I’m leaving it up to the professional. I think we’ll do a blue sky with clouds and then maybe some cartoon animals.”
“I’ve always been partial to Bambi.”
“Then when that’s done, I’ll get serious about the furniture. I joined this online new-mommy group and I can’t tell you how much stuff this kid is going to need. Forget the crib, there are, like, a hundred other pieces of equipment it will require, not the least of which is something called a Diaper Genie. You don’t even want to know what that’s all about.”
She knew she was rambling, but he didn’t seem to mind. He simply leaned against the door with his arms crossed over his chest taking in everything she said.
“We’ll need two car seats. Everyone says that’s the most practical. To leave one in each of our cars so we’re not always swapping one out. Then there are the carriers—the backpack kind and the newborn baby kind. I don’t necessarily see you wearing one of those sling things, but you could probably make it work. Then there’s all the bags I’ll need to hold all the stuff to cart this kid from point A to point B.”
“Anna, you’re going to be a good mom.”
She looked at him. She could see in his expression that he heard the fear in her voice. “How do you know?”
“You’re one of the most caring people I know. Sometimes you put on a front and act tough, but I know deep down there is soft goo under the act. It’s why you used to scare me so much, I think.”
“I scared you?”
“Yep. You were this chaotic mess of light and softness. Sometimes I used to worry if I touched you, I might break you. But then I found out you’re strong, too. Lord knows you could always put me in my place. So strong, in spite of all the soft goo I know fills up your heart. You’ll love this baby and that will make you like a lot of other moms. But you’ll protect this baby with ferocity and that is what will make you a great mom.”
She smiled and tried to let what he said fill her up so she could really believe it. Because she desperately wanted to. “Every once in a while you say really nice things.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I think, though, that I’m probably going to be scared until the kid gets here and I can prove to myself I’m nothing like my mother. I mean, what if she was like me in the beginning? Buying stuff and painting rooms, looking forward to meeting me and curious about how I’d be. But then when I was born it all changed.”
Ben looked at his shoes a moment then met her gaze. “You’ve talked about some memories. Ones that weren’t bad. Like the damp cloth on the back of your neck. So she must have cared for you.”
“Yeah, but watching over me when I was sick sort of gets canceled out by the fact she left me. Why did she do that?”
Anna rubbed her hands on the mound that was her stomach. It baffled her—she didn’t even know this kid’s name yet and already the idea of being separated from it was like tearing off a limb.
“Anna—”
“No, I don’t want to talk about that. Or her. This is my first night in my new home. My forever home. I want it to be a happy one. I want to remember it, always, as the best night ever.”
“I think I can handle happy. For you, I’m guessing that means pizza with mushrooms and anchovies—which continues to boggle my imagination—and a quart of some type of ice cream you will name at the very last minute.”
Anna’s stomach rumbled at the mention of pizza. It had been maybe only an hour since she snuck in a peanut butter and banana sandwich, but suddenly she found herself craving something she couldn’t name.
“Then we can segue from pizza into a movie. Something sappy that will have you in tears, which you will insist are happy tears, whatever the hell those are.”
No, she didn’t want a movie or pizza or ice cream. Suddenly Anna realized the thing she was ravenous for was him. It was as though a rolling wave of